


If That Looking Glass Gets Broke

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: Dean has big news and a little freakout. It's a lucky break he's got Roman, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set at some indeterminate point in the foreseeable future in the kayfabe universe and not intended to reflect the performers' offscreen lives or relationships.

Roman had staked out a spot at the hotel bar where he'd be able to see Dean when he ducked in, and when his boy appeared, wearing a crisp Wrestlemania t-shirt over ragged-out jeans, he slid off of his stool and reeled him into a hard hug. Life was treating them both pretty good for a change, but the roster split was still strange; Roman had missed being able to rib and roughhouse with him in person.

“Can I crash with you tonight?” Dean mumbled into his shoulder by way of greeting.

“Any time,” Roman said, and squeezed him tighter for a moment. “You know that. Thought you rode in with Renee, though.” He turned him loose and drew back to look him over. “Something up?”

Dean grimaced and slouched onto a stool of his own. “Figure she's wishing she never met me right about now.”

“That bad, huh?” He resettled at the bar.

“Wouldn't blame her if she's working out how to move my shit out of the house without Total Divas sending a camera.” He motioned at the bartender for a pint of the same as Roman was drinking. “Or, hell,” he huffed, “maybe she should call them out; make sure everybody knows how much better off they'll be without me.” He slumped over the polished bartop with a sigh.

“Babe? You wanna back up a little? You're not making a lot of sense here.”

“She just told me she's pregnant, Ro.”

“Holy shit! Dean!” He reached across the space between them and juiced Dean's shoulder. “Congratulations!”

He tipped his face up from his slouch and smiled, small and awkward and real. “Thanks, brother.”

The bartender discreetly set down a coaster and a golden pint in front of Dean, and they grinned stupidly at each other until the barkeep had bustled off to help another knot of people.

“Didn't even know you were trying.”

“Kinda.” Dean shrugged under his hand. “I mean, we didn't have any real solid plans – ain't like we're already painting the nursery or anything – but, yeah, we pulled the goalie a little ways back.”

“What the hell are you doing down here with me?” He gave Dean's shoulder a little shake, then let it go to raise his glass in a toast. “For future reference, plans with me are always plans you can cancel for news like this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He clinked their glasses together, and his smile dimmed. “I'm fucking things up already. Just... she told me – fuck, she's so excited, man, and she wanted me to be right there with her, and she deserves that, and I want to be that guy – and I, like, locked up.” He broke off to take a long pull at his beer. “And then, instead of sticking it out, I just bailed and left her up in the room alone. Christ, I'm such an asshole.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean shot him a glare, but there was no real venom in it, and he rolled on. “But Renee's pretty observant. I bet she knew that before she started thinking about having a kid with you.”

“Seriously, man, I just fucking bolted on her. She must think I'm pissed or something.” He frowned and took another long drink. “Not happy, anyway.”

“Are you?”

“Happy? Yeah, I think I am...” Dean nodded, his smile flickering back on like he didn't know quite what to do with the realization, and Roman fought the urge to hug him again, this outrageous brother of his who'd come so far, but still didn't trust his own feelings. Not the good ones, anyway. “But, like, turns out I can't even take the news like a normal person. What the hell am I gonna do when this kid actually shows up?”

“Be scared shitless, and figure it out as you go.”

Dean barked out an incredulous laugh, and Roman thought that if he'd timed his response out better, he probably could have made him spray his beer onto the bar. Next time.

“Yeah, yuk it up, but you know I speak from experience. You know what my daughter told me yesterday? There's some freckle-faced brat called Landon, riding his ten-speed around Pensacola, saying he wants to be her boyfriend! I don't know what you're laughing about. That shit is terrifying!”

Dean grinned. “Least you got some time before the twins get there?”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of scary, let's talk about the boys! The Deadman's got nothin' on them! Right now they're sweet and beautiful and small and they can't go anywhere on their own two feet, but how long you think that's gonna last? And when they team up with their big sister, that's gonna be the grown-ups outnumbered; handicap matches for the rest of our lives.” He gave an exaggerated shudder, then took a drink and let Dean laugh for a beat before he went on. “For real, though, you got this, babe.”

“You think?”

Dean's voice had sounded impossibly small, and that put a little steel in Roman's words when he replied.

“I know. You're better at people than you give yourself credit for; believe that.” He lifted his glass again and waited for Dean to smirk at the familiar catchphrase; it'd been a while since he'd rolled that one out. “Not gonna bullshit you, man; it's hard sometimes – especially doing what we do, not being able to be right there all the time – but, Dean, it's so damn worth it. I hope being their dad is the best thing I ever do.”

“Won't be me givin' you a run for your money as Father of the Year, anyway.”

“Knock that shit off before I knock it off for you,” he said, suddenly stern, tired of listening to somebody run down his boy. Even – maybe especially – when that somebody was Dean himself.

“Sorry, Dad,” Dean said with a crooked smile, managing apology and sass simultaneously, like the talented pain in the ass he was.

“It's not a contest, Dean,” he said more gently, “and even if it was, you're always gonna lose if you don't even show up. I don't care what you think; you're no loser.”

Dean didn't reply to that, except to duck his head, but that was okay. Roman hadn't really expected an answer. He dropped a hand back onto Dean's shoulder, and they nursed their beers in quiet for a little piece.

“Anyway,” he resumed, “you won't be in it alone. Renee's gonna be a great tag-team partner.”

“If she still wants me in her corner,” Dean said ruefully. “You know, me being so stable and reliable and all.”

“Okay, dude, this is maybe not your finest hour,” Roman admitted, squeezing his shoulder, “but it's still fixable. You're not a quitter –”

“Nope. Just a chickenshit.”

“– and neither is she. Look, she knows where you been, right? Knows you never had much reason to celebrate Father's Day?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. She's seen pretty much all my dirty laundry.”

“There's no accounting for taste, and she loves you, babe. You know she'll try to understand if you give her the chance.”

“Kid and me are both fucking lucky, having her, huh?”

“Yeah. You gonna sack up and go back upstairs and tell her that?”

 

* * *

 

Dean shimmied along the back wall of the elevator as it crept up toward the sixth floor. The bottle of orange juice clutched in his hand was cold and beginning to sweat against his palm, and he was sure his face was doing all kinds of stupid, twitchy stuff. Roman, slipping easily into his role as backup and moral support, even after so long out of their routine, just leaned next to the buttons and smiled placidly as he watched him dance off his nerves.

“So,” Dean said, “if I get afraid I'm gonna fuck this up too bad, can I send 'em to live with Uncle Roman?”

“Depends,” Roman said, pretending to think it over, laying it on thick. “How much you think the kid'll take after its old man? I don't know if I can handle two of you.”

“Asshole,” Dean scoffed, and then pitched forward and let Roman catch him in another hug. He tightened his arms around Roman's neck and pressed a kiss into the smooth hair behind his temple. “Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Roman knocked on the door to the room. Dean had his key – hadn't walked off without it for a change – but, he figured the least he owed Renee was the chance to decide whether she wanted to look at him just yet. If he couldn't keep himself from being a flaky asshole, he could at least give her the satisfaction of slamming a door in his face.

The door swung open, cautiously, framing Renee, red-eyed but with a surprised smile for Roman. Only for Roman; her had gaze flinched away from Dean's and not wandered back yet. Naomi and Brie were ranked up behind her, a pair of beautiful hockey enforcers with disappointed looks for Dean.

“Congratulations, baby girl!” Roman said, expertly defusing the tension in the air by pretending to be oblivious to it. He'd paid the Big Dog's bar tab, but Dean knew he owed him so much bigger than that for this whole night. The courtly fucker lifted one of her hands and kissed the back of her knuckles, then gestured toward Dean. “I brought you a present.”

“Is it rude to ask if you kept the receipt?” She finally looked at Dean, and she was steady enough now, but he could tell he'd made her cry because she'd washed off her probably-ruined makeup and her bare cheeks were flushed.

“Maybe,” he said, jumping in before anybody got too far down the road to dumping his ass off at the return counter, “but I earned it. Can we talk? I'm so fuckin' sorry.”

She sighed, but took his arm and gave it a tug, pulling him across the threshold and through the door. "Get in here."

Roman came close behind him, greeting the other women warmly. "Thinking you've got some baby pictures I haven't seen yet, and vice-versa," he said to Brie, neatly distracting their audience. If there had ever been a sliver of doubt about who'd be this kid's godfather, the deal was pretty much sealed now.

"Is this orange juice?" Renee asked, prying the bottle out of his clammy fingers. "Is this for me?"

"Yup, all yours." He let it go, and she turned the bottle over in her palms; he decided to take it as a hopeful sign that she hadn't winged it at his head yet. "Like, I thought flowers - that's what you're supposed to do when you know you're being a shit right? And I know you like those funky-colored daisies - but then the gift shop was closed, and I don't know what else is in the neighborhood, and I didn't want to be gone for forever if nothing was open or we got cornered by a bunch of fans or something, and they had this in the convenience store in the lobby."

He was babbling, he knew, but she was listening, just letting him go and watching with a softer expression than he probably deserved. He let relief fold up his knees underneath him and hit the floor at her feet. "'S got, like, lots of vitamins or something, right?" She hadn't stepped away from him, and he took the chance to lean forward to loop his arms around her waist and press his face to her flat-for-now stomach. "I got no idea what I'm doin' here," he said, muffled by the sleek, shiny fabric of her shirt, "but there's gotta be books and stuff, yeah?"

She was quiet and still for a beat, and then she stepped in a little closer and he felt her hand at the crown of his head, nails scratching over his scalp, fingers winding into his hair to give the gentlest tug.

"Yeah, there's books," she said, voice husky. "We'll hit 'em together. If you're sticking around."

He pulled against her grip to crane his face up at her. "Long as you'll have me."

Naomi cleared her throat. "If y'all are good here, then I'm gonna steal Roman to help me find my husband and his brother and embarrass them at the pool table."

"We'll be okay," Renee said, and pressed the cool juice bottle to the side of his neck. He dipped his head again, pushed up the hem of her shirt and kissed her belly, made her laugh even while she waved their friends out the door. "Take pictures! Put them on instagram!"


End file.
